Nature Old Poems | Examples
These Nature Old poems are examples of Old poems about Nature. These are the best examples of Old Nature poems written by international poets.
they have stood their ground
in need of some tlc
never ask for much
an old crow hobbles
upon stoned driveway
seeking dropped seedlings
the old-growth forest gathers close to me
its presence deep and singular, I’m told~
a living soul in every shadow’s plea
tree roots hold hush of ages in their calm
their silence steady, ancient in their hold
a quiet strength that settles into psalm
light through tall elders filters soft and bright
soft as God’s hand upon my spirit’s fold
guides my heart with unassailable might
and in that stillness wisdom leans in grace
a breath of truth, such open-hearted gold~
as God draws near filling the woodland space
Rooted into oblivion
Set feet first in dirt
Lumpy cavities crashing upward
Gnarly outer layer
Barnacles breaking out
Lost in the years of growth
Final storm tips the top
Brushing through cracking limb
Tipping with lost balance
Exposing twisted lines
Broken from the earth
Woman or tree
Still beautiful to me
Dost thou disport thyself in thy daily pilgrimage?
What calleth 'playtime' unto thy soul?
I find my joy in the presence of ancient trees.
Where vibrant hues do spiral wild and free.
Such forests stretch beyond the sight, far and deep.
For 'tis within the winding roads of sleep.
I wander, blessed by the light that slumbered brings.
Nature doth cast a gentle, cooling breath!
To soothe my spirit, far from thoughts of depth.
O, Golden Light! Grant me lengthened rest!
For my strange, painted trees must be addressed.
With joyous heart, I fashion things of naughty.
The muse cries, "Play!" with every color squeezed,
With twinning scrolls and fancies, well appeased.
'Tis here I take my leap,
Both bold and steep,
Into a bright and variegated heap!
For Pippi, my fifteen year old Chihuahua
On sunny days it’s okay to spend
Ten minutes outside the front door
While my old dog finds the perfect spot
to pee and poop,
But on rainy days he insists indoors
Is where he wants to be,
And in his second puppyhood
The puppy pads are nice enough,
And I am fine with that
Because I don’t like rain either!
for tea, or appreciating sunsets,
or finding garnets in the river
before I turn forty.
There isn’t time
for another funny poem
about marriage and parenting
a preteen,
analyzing
my aging eyes,
or my aging knees
before I turn
forty.
There isn’t time
for cinnamon incense
or spying goldfinches
on tall evergreen
branches
on the last days of March
alone
before
I
turn
forty.
Sitting on the deck looking down upon the creek
There's ripples on the surface, the water's running free
The rays of early sunshine, shimmering through the trees
My beautiful six year old granddaughter is perched upon my knees
The breeze is blowing gently and ruffling up the leaves
The leaves are gently falling, filling up the gutters attached upon the eaves
Yellow blossom full of nectar, attracting many bees
Be aware of sight, the sound and smell, the senses, these are the keys
Nature so magnificent without ever asking. it will surely please
My Old Hometown
As the sands of time blow by
My hometown beach lost its treasure
The sea level rose four feet
Less shoreline
Less open expanse
Beachgoers today are over-crowded
I watch with teary eyes
connie pachecho
10/26/25
total syllables-45
Nature's flamboyant tiny gifts
Brought to beaches by the gushed drifts
People cherish old pebbles
As the soft touch enthral them
They treat them as prized assets
And fortune bringers
Placed: 2nd
For Contest Make It Two, Please, Sponsored by Nette Onclaud, dated October 6, 2025
Sleek stream cascades in heart of vale,
glazes the old pebble’s face once pale.
Its whispering sighs tumbled
downhill to drown in pearl flow,
merged with concert of murmur,
its ancient song sung.
One small round stone, with spindrift swept
‘Cross ageless shores - through ages, wept
Beach-to-beach it passed through time
Brown husk shrinking midst each storm
And though that plain rock neared ends
One child snatched it … RARE!
“Make It Two, Please” Poetry Contest”
Nette Onclaud, Judge & Sponsor
October 6, 2025
The old Rock Stone rests in the dirt
It renews life when it's collected
Heidi Sands
6/14/25
Many a place that time leaves behind
Hold memories that never rust
Like the now broken swing where skyward you'd climb
It now creaks as it sways in a windy gust
The old wooden house where you once lived
Held memories of laughter and fun
With beauty from nature derived
Playing where the rivers run
The rustling leaves of the old oak tree
is remembered by those who explored its branches
Now it plays a sentimental melody
As recollections flow without stanches
Impressions may come and go
But in some forgotten corridor of the mind
An image will suddenly show
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find"
.
the wind has died down—
the ground s t r e w n
with nature’s debris—
autumn’s palette
a feast for the eye … a shelved chore
before the
inevitable miasma of dusty decay
teased by wind’s chilling fingers
that’s tasted in the back of the throat –
green and red leaves
scattered side by side—
a conspiritual cosying up
a compelling contrast:
youthful green, aged red—
although red leads the rainbow,
it
follows
in nature …
the beauty of old age
unfolds in the display of fallen leaves—
s c a t t e r e d to the wind
infinitely wiser …